


Uncontrollable

by Canyousensethesarcasm



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Hybern, Nessian - Freeform, after acomaf, bad ass nesta, illyrian nesta, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canyousensethesarcasm/pseuds/Canyousensethesarcasm
Summary: She had gotten used to midnight, to the clouds that rained down her misfortune. She had let it become her home, her life, her everything. She had let it darken a part of her that she promised would never brighten again. She had hoped she never would. Her icy disposition was easier to reveal than the warmth she yearned to touch. But as if the fire had come from the very core she buried herself in, it grew in the likeness of great beasts and mighty roars. Maybe, she thought, she had always been a monster. Maybe, it was as innate as breathing. In this dark world she grew up in, she could finally see the light.





	1. Catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the idea that Nesta is really magically/physically strong already so keep that in mind

“He’s going to need that Rhys, his wings aren’t going to heal by themselves.”

The wheels already turning in Nesta’s mind.

“We have to plan this, Cassian isn’t with us. We have to think strategically. Killing him and taking the vial will start a war we don’t need.”

“They’re having a masquerade.” He breathed.

“In his castle.” The other replied

“There can be no witnesses.” He spoke.

“In and out.” They said in unison.

“It’s around his neck, how are we going to get that off of him without him knowing?”

The voice of reason behind the operation.

“Let’s think of another way.” Desperation in his voice.

“There is no other way!” A fist slammed onto a hard surface, could hear it resonate throughout the room.

The silence that followed echoed louder than the impact.

“For our brother.” He spoke quietly.

“For our brother.” He promised.

* * *

They had not noticed she was there, had not noticed the inquisitive brow or the gleam of information behind her stark eyes, when she had asked them earlier about maps.

They were just thankful she wasn’t hostile or sobbing.

The yearn to help outweighed the fear coursing through her veins. She suppressed the feeling before it could begin to fester and disseminate.  

_I will never be weak again._

She promised herself she would not get involved that it was not her fight, that these were not her people. Her instincts to fight fastened inside herself before she could stop them.

It was there plan; it was there problem.

It became her own, when Feyre had contacted her mate. Hybern on the move, a grim war that would be painted in red.

She could see it in their eyes when she passed them in the halls, heard it in their hushed words and quiet disposition. Could see it when they dared to glance at the door, bleak and dreary.

Their friend, their brother. A person who thrived in war and would more than likely not be able taste the sweat of combat or the sweetness of victory. A broken sort of person.

But so was she.

She’s not sure why she did it, not sure what compelled her to believe that she was capable of such feats.

Her mind had planned before her body had caught up, and by the time it did she had already winnowed.

She had only been able to complete short distances, but her will was stronger than the bitter magic permeating her body.

She didn’t have anything to lose if all else failed. Elain was taken care of, content as far as she could tell with the fantasies of a mate who loved her. Elain had not lost her spirit, but _Nesta_ had lost her freedom.

* * *

Nesta had been to extravagant parties before. She had thrived on them, fed on them, the intrigue and stares. A doll that was painfully beautiful and strangely unapproachable. She loved the feeling of being loved, consumed the approval and applause. She was a puppet of society; she did not resist the temptation of splendor and beauty.

When food stopped being a commodity and people began to remove their alluring disguises, Nesta realized she had to yet to truly see the truth behind each of the eyes she beheld. She promised herself to learn that trade well.

She was created for diamond and pearls, not claws and venom, but dancing and flirting would not feed their family. She would not either, she had proclaimed. She would not be accountable for the poor excuse of her father.

Feyre had taken the reigns. Fed them and more for years. A decision she honored even if it pierced a dark part of her soul she would not yet recognize.

And years later, when they again received their riches, Feyre continuing to make the ultimate sacrifice, people looked at them, envy twisted around their beguiled hearts. She felt the approval once more, the satisfaction.

It was not because she was beautiful and strong. She was just a doll they had found in the back of their closets. Worn, but memorable. Intriguing and rich. They’d been all too happy to play with her once more.

_I’ll never be weak again._

But today, she’d be their doll. She’d proclaim herself innocent and alluring. She’d let them grasp her sanity in their painful gazes and robust hands.  

* * *

Adorned in black. Tight around the bodice, tulle gathering around the skirt. A slit parting her dress for intrigue. She had left her hair down covering her ears that had cost her so much. The black lace mask around her ice cold eyes covering any trepidation at the prospects.

Breathing in the night air, ridding herself of the hesitation that started burying itself into her gut. She stood on the outskirts of the dark double doors, alone, music coming from the inside. It was cold.

She was colder.

“Hello sweetheart”

She almost cringed at the endearment. Almost.

He was a tall man, with long black hair tied with a ribbon. The picture of elegance, a beautiful lie. Her knowledge had not failed her, he liked the color black. He liked pretty, mysterious dolls.

“I haven’t seen you around before.” Of course, he’d know.

This was his castle, and he was a monster.

Just like her.

“You’ll have fun if you stick close to me.” He spoke into her ear.

_I’ll have more fun with you._

“I promise.” He whispered as he leaned closer to her lips.

A spark ignited inside her, one that was growing and lethal. She gazed into his eyes, peering into the soul that was slowly removing her lovely black garment. Promising to feast on a weak and pretty thing.

_I will never be weak again._

She stepped up to him, moving in closer. A strange sort of satisfaction streamed through Nesta’s predatory stare. A cat playing with her precious dinner.

Surprise registered in his features. She glanced at his lips. Her own turning upwards in a dance she had learned to master, a lifetime ago.

She was going to show him exactly why people did not play with fire.

“I’d believe you better, if you showed me.” Nesta said lowly.

His focus shifted from her full lips and up to her cold, blue eyes. He titled his head, assessing the worth of the prize before him.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly grabbed her hand, placed it on his all too willing arm, and led her through those menacing double doors.

He smiled at her. Victory danced in his features, clearly believing he had one whatever game they’d been playing.

Raising an eyebrow, she simply smiled. A thing of temptation and deceit. He unknowingly walked a lioness into the sheep den.

* * *

The inside was a grander than the outside had been. How that was possible, she couldn’t contemplate.

_Blasted fae people._

Tapestries lined the walls, pictures depicting fae slaughtering men and feasting on women. Gory details of love and war, blood and lust, betrayal and victory. Heads on platters, body’s laying on others. A horror painted like a dream.

_How tasteful?_

Red velvet carpet adorned the halls, and gold furniture surrounded the foyer.

If she didn’t already know what being fae was like, she’d say this place was tacky.

He led her through the ballroom, past fae dancing and singing, celebrating, like they had forever to do so.

_They did._

The fae male on her arm told her the names of many, marking his as her own as they went around the room. He told her what their station was, their titles, their importance. He used quite too much flattery, telling her constantly that she was the most beautiful in the room.

_That was a lie._

Yet still she listened, listened and observed. Took in the windows and the guards that lined them. Analyzed the layout of the rooms. Watched the people, watching her. Categorized all those who held weapons and those who had weapons up their sleeves.

The music did not stop; the dancing did not cease. They were content to live in their little dream.

_Not for long_.  

Only once did the progression stop and fae listened in on the voice above them. The man on her arm handed her a drink filled with red. He went to stand on the podium in the center of the room. Raising his glass, subjects following, he acclaimed,

“May we always remember our poor, dear Amarantha. Pity she was not smart enough to outwit a lowly human.”

And with a clink of glasses, the fae drank, toasting to a wretch who had wanted to maim and torture her sister. She quickly tossed the glass aside. She would not miss this building or its inhabitants.

_What a shame?_

The beauty of masks did nothing to disguise the eerie disgust pervading the room.

When it was clear most of the castle’s occupancies were drunk off fairy wine, the man holding her arm pulled her to the side.

He led her through the encampment, only stopping to admire the beauty before him. He had filled her glass many times. She poured them out every time he turned his head.

This was supposed to be an easy night for him, one he didn’t have to fight too hard to win.

Too bad, Nesta didn’t like to lose.

He opened the door, far from the disturbance of sinister smiles and cunning looks. He held his hand out towards her as he did, an innocent gesture with a wicked intent.

She stepped into the room, breathing in all the exits, the potential weapons, the advantages she needed and the disadvantages she did not. To him, she was simply admiring the décor, like the doll he believed she was, like the toy he wanted to play with.  

He stepped behind her. Careful not to flinch, Nesta titled her head backwards to look at him. She gave him a dangerous smile. He liked this game she played. His pupils widening at the prospect and his gaze lingering longer on her endowments as he looked her up and down.

She was a sheep for slaughter, and they were all savage beasts.

She turned around, facing the front of him and titling her head to align with his. When his lips were mere centimeters from her mouth she backed away. Slowly, until she hit the wall, and as if in a trance, the fae male before her followed. A pull she knew all too well.

Let him think he had her cornered, let it stroke the beast inside him. Let him think she was weak and defenseless. Let him think she was his toy to play with.

She felt the hilt of the knife between the folds of her skirt. The knife she hid was _not_ the most dangerous weapon in the room.  

She parted his shirt planting her hand on his chest. Saw the vial on the chain encircling his neck, a golden noose in need of tightening. She tore her gaze away and looked at him, seeing, for the first time, that he was person inhabiting a fae’s body.

_He is not a person_.

Neither was she.

_I will never be weak again._

She continued to stare into his green eyes, caution slowly entering his stare, a pity.

“Who are you?” He whispered.  

“Your worst nightmare.” She replied.

The candles blew out.

* * *

The beautiful building didn’t stand a chance. The people inside screamed, she wanted to laugh. At least their suffering was ending, hers had just begun.

She watched until the last of the flames engulfed every part of the castle, and she watched as it crumbled beneath her. The fire did not touch her; she was not the enemy.

She touched the vial that lay around her neck, felt the coolness of the chain, the weight against her slender neck.

_At least one of us would stop suffering._

She winnowed back to Velaris, like her body was made to do so. It had been, every rip and stitch.  

Her mind felt weary and her body ached. She cringed at the dress she still had on, could practically feel the man’s hands run across her body.

She did not remember his name, didn’t even remember asking for it. She was glad she’d never have to. She’d burn this dress and the memories, with the castle that had fallen. Never to rise again.

She removed the vial from around her neck and then took it off the chain. She couldn’t believe that so much effort was put into rescuing the little bottle with no more than a few drops left inside. She hoped it’d be enough.

She walked the path to his room, knew it well, in fact. Her insides quaked at the mere anticipation. She could hear the voices behind the wall, could hear the nervous laughter that filled the room.

They would no longer have to tip toe around him, he’d no longer have to hate that they were.

She knocked on the door, and the voices that had once been in uproar stilled. She straightened, every bit of the queen she wished she felt like.

_I will never be weak again._

The door opened slowly. Walking in with her head held high was a test of will. She would bow to no one, she belonged to no one. This was not her court; these were not her people. Even so, she could not control the unsteady beat of her heart.

She scanned the room, a force of habit after everything she’d been through. They looked at her. Rhys with his questioning gaze, Azriel with his expressions he thought he hid so well, Mor who looked excited at the prospect of her being in there, and Amren who looked relieved for reasons she didn’t dare contemplate or voice aloud. 

_These are not your people; these are not your friends._

Cassian was the last she looked at, the last she wanted to see if she was being honest. But if she was being honest, she’d admit that Cassian’s face was the _only_ one she wanted to see.

“Nesta?” He questioned.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, feeling foolish when her hand wrung themselves together in nervous anticipation.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them Cassian looked concerned. She tried not to look too doe eyed at the expression. She grasped the vial, as if it were her only lifeline, and when no movement had been made, she stepped forward. She set the vial on the bedside table.

Cassian’s eyes widened, and if she had turned around she would have noticed the others’ doing the same. No word was spoken as the weight of the situation settled on their shoulders, a unit. Weak together, strong together. Her heart clenched in yearning.

“Nesta, how did you get this?” disbelief coating his voice.

She stared at the window on the far side of the room. The sun shining brighter than she thought was appropriate. But then again, someone would gain back their wings today. She looked back at Rhysand, staring directly into his violet eyes.

“There were no witnesses.”

She chose not to tell him that there were simply none left.

Cassian’s gaze turned to steel.

“You could have died Nesta.”

A statement with hidden fury behind each word. She had to laugh. She had already died in that cauldron; she would never be whole again. She fed on monsters, because she was one of them.

She just wanted to see how far she’d make it before the darkness devoured her. It was a game she was more than willing to play.

But Nesta didn’t speak these thoughts aloud. She simply looked at him with those icy, blue eyes only he knew how to read.

“I will never be weak again.”

She grabbed his hand, and ignored the electricity that thrummed through her body at the touch. She snatched the vial and placed it in his palm.

She was about to turn around when Cassian grabbed her arm, and with a thump, crushed her in his arms. His heart was beating just as rapidly as hers.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He repeated, eyes closed. Like a prayer.

It echoed in her soul. She nodded and slipped from his grasp. She turned and strode out the way she came in. And as hard as it was to enter, it was harder to leave.


	2. Contusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically Nesta meeting the Illyrians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA Nesta in an Illyrian War Camp. It’s practically five thousand words and took me forever to write, I almost gave up but here it is! 
> 
> Also I read this like six times trying to remove all the typos, but I really didn’t feel like going through it again, so ah well. (Shrugs)

“Cut it.”

She lifted her hair from behind her and leaned back on the chair. Cassian, with his every present trepidation, simply shook his head.

“Nesta.”

Shrugging in resignation, Nesta openly looked at her reflection staring back at her, “Cut it. It’s of no use to me now,”

When Cassian’s hands fumbled with the knife, unsure of her words, Nesta grabbed it from his hands. She would not miss her long hair, the hours washing and grooming it. Making it pretty, for people she could care less about. It was a decoration of the person who yearned for affection, the person who wanted to please. She’d never be _her_ again.

She grasped the hilt with one hand and her golden hair with the other, seeing each thread as it flared at the tips. The blade, a piercing edge of metal, sharp enough to desecrate bodies. It cut right through.

She gazed at herself in the mirror before her. Stared at her, now, shoulder length hair.

She didn’t recognize her reflection. Not for the long ears that she hid behind a wall of hair, not for the lengthened frame of her face, or the sharp edges of cheekbones. Her eyes were a dark cave of mystery, a deep abyss of nothingness. She looked at herself, stared at herself, and she couldn’t contemplate how one person could be so different from another, how she could forget one as if she never knew her, and stare at another like she had yet to find out. 

“Here.” Cassian handing her a leather tie, like the ones he used himself. His presence a warm caress to her bitter cold.

Even as he had stood by her, and never let her feel alone, she still wondered what his intentions were. She felt guilty every time.

She wanted to know why these people stood by her, even when she hated their very existence, why they put up with her brokenness, even if it would cost them more than she would ever be willing to pay on their behalf. Perhaps, she was never meant to find out. A truth seeker never would know the whole truth, and maybe that was the irony of it all.

She was born, but did not know why. Suffered, but did not know what for. Died and was born again. An answer she would never know, and would likely die yearning to understand. 

She stared off into the distance, the mirror still ahead of her, but her head far, far away. She heard the screech of a stool moving, before she felt his presence at her backside. She did not flinch; He did not cause the pain her thoughts did.

He brushed her hair, and she leaned back closing her eyes. Comforted by the dance of his fingers along her scalp. His gentle hands cradled her head like she was a gift, someone precious and worthy.

She pushed those ridiculous thoughts to the back of her mind. She was precious to no one, least of all him. But some part of her thought _she_ was the ridiculous one in this mess they created.

She opened her eyes, seeing that blasted mirror for the last time. A deep well inside of her dark, decrepit soul was overflowing, pushing past the brim of her consciousness. She could still feel the sharp edge of the knife in her hands, pricking her soft palm. Cassian’s gentle fingers did nothing to soothe the ache in her soul, did nothing to close the gaping hole that made a home in her chest. Her heart wept, she’d never be whole again.

A sob pierced the room before the knife hit the mirror. Tears streaming, an echo of the person she’d become. Broken, like the pieces on the ground.

Cassian had shielded her from the blow. Cocooned her in his wings, those blasted wings. He never did stop using them to save, to help. She didn’t deserve his help, didn’t want, didn’t ask for it. And yet, some part of her body sang at the proximity, was pleased with the warmth of wings and the feel of his heartbeat. A steady rhythm she could hold on to.

Cassian made no sound, made no movement to pick her up and set her on her feet. He had only held tighter and stroked her head, while she struggled to catch her breath. He had witnessed her greatest fear. She was not as strong as she wanted to be. Not even close. The tears didn’t stop falling from her hopeless, blue eyes. She wanted to blind him for seeing her like this, though she craved his warmth. An endless dance going on in her head that had yet to silence itself, that exhausted her to the point of deprivation.

Even so, his presence calmed her restless spirit, reminded her that she was far from alone. She’d never be alone again. When her tumultuous waves had stilled, he spoke softly,

“Rhys wants me to take you to the Illyrian war camp, thinks it’ll be good for you.”

She looked up at him, stared into his hazel eyes. She could see the concern crinkled in his brow.

“You want me to go?” She answered at last.

“I want to take you. I’m certainly not leaving you there to fend for yourself.”

Her eyes grew stormy and the spark inside her came alive once more.

“I don’t need your help,” she sneered.

Moving away from his comfort was the hardest task she’d ever been faced with. She didn’t meet his gaze.

The pull held on to her, telling her she wanted this, she wanted to be held. She would not think about the way Cassian’s eyes looked hurt by the dismissal.

“I don’t think you need anyone, sweetheart. But for your own good, and the good of the people who have to live with you, I’d suggest taking him up on his offer.”

With her back turned, Nesta rolled her eyes. _This_ she could manage.

She inclined her head to meet his. She only saw honesty painted on his face, a relief. Many moments passed before she sounded her answer, and when she did her heart felt a little less heavy, a little less burdened.

Cassian’s nod of approval had nothing to do with it, she told herself.

Maybe, she wasn’t strong like Feyre, maybe she lacked the courage and the will. But she could be. She had the fire, she could learn the fight. Perhaps, she didn’t recognize herself now, but she could create someone who could, who _would_ be strong and brave and courageous.

She was willing to try, if only to stop the weight of the world from crushing her to dust.

* * *

 

The Illyrian war camp was exactly as she’d pictured it and nothing alike. She expected the brutality, the bitter cold, the strict rules. She did not expect the calm. There was something serene about not having to hide her ever present rage, and not having to conceal the torment housed inside her body.

Cassian said she’d train here, with him. He told her about growing in this place, rising from the ashes to become commander of Rhys’s armies. Although she sensed he skipped around the beginnings of his past, for her benefit or his she didn’t know, he’d sounded happy about the outcome. Happy to have a family who loved him. A spark of resentment filled her that she quickly swallowed and digested.

When they had landed, Illyrian soldiers were waiting for them as if they expected them to be there. Not her, she realized, Cassian. They were armed and in formation. She didn’t miss the fact that no women were before them.

A man, their leader, was in the center of them all. He didn’t look too joyous at the company.

“Back again, so soon, I see,” the man spoke.

“Lord Devlon. I see the girls are still not training.”

“Chores,” he glanced at her,” You should know all about those,”

Cassian’s fists curled, an anger radiating off him.

“Rhys’s orders, deal with it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Nesta just observed. Took in the terrain in front of her, the way they held themselves. The attitudes, the looks. Felt the bitter cold from the air and the people. Lord Devlon sneered. A raging inferno sharpened at the gesture. She’d take great pleasure in getting to know what made these _Illyrians_ tick.

“Get them out in the ring. Now!” Cassian bellowed.

“Or would you like to see what happens when people disobey my orders.”

Lord Devlon looked at him, not impressed in the slightest. He gazed at her again, waiting. Nothing came and the intellectual part of warned her not to play a game she didn’t know how to win. Not until she learned.  

The man’s head lilted downwards, clearly mocking Cassian. Nesta tried to settle the annoyance she felt crawling up her spine.

She followed Cassian as he walked off. A trail of fire in his wake.

* * *

 

They had trained all afternoon, Cassian clearly perturbed. She asked him no questions, simply followed his lead and began.

As much as she’d hated to admit it, she’d liked fighting with Cassian. There was something deeply satisfying about hitting someone who would hit her back, someone who would not take it easy on her no matter how many times she’d punch.

Her power was great, her fire inextinguishable, and when the day ended she found herself missing the sun. Cassian told her they needed to rest. She didn’t want to rest, she wanted to burn the energy coursing through her body, to, somehow, quench the fire slowly consuming her.

Cassian sensed the argument rising in her chest.

“You won’t be able to fight later, your senses will be dull, and your punches will be weak at best. Rest.”

Nesta nodded. Logic winning in the end. Cassian led them to the house that used to be Rhys’s mom’s. They parted ways, not uttering a single goodnight. Just precarious glances, goading the other to say something, anything. She wasn’t about to take a bite of the elephant.

Silence followed and they had both left to their respective alcoves.  

She set her knife on the bedside table, the same one that she used to maim her first fae, polished and pretty. He wouldn’t be her last. She had burned everything of that night, but she couldn’t get rid of the knife. The sharp edge of the blade brought her comfort only a weapon could bring. The knowledge that she could and would protect her sisters, and herself.

Laying on the bed brought her no comfort. Her thoughts maddening her to the point of exhaustion. Even so, her body craved to get moving. Yelling at her to get up or she’d wouldn’t ever be strong enough. That she couldn’t do nothing, while her sisters were defending themselves.

When finally, she couldn’t take the screams blasting inside her head, she gave up. She wouldn’t sleep, she couldn’t. There was no trying. She grabbed the knife on her way out.

She captured the landscape and the night sky. She felt the cool touch of winter along her feverish body. She almost felt relieved to be out of the utterly silent room and its confining walls, reminding her all too well that she was just a prisoner trapped in another cage.

It was the hum of the night that made her suddenly wary, that made her notice she wasn’t the only one on the brink of falling in an endless chasm.

It was her fae hearing that made her aware of the grunts and the shrill cries. Her heart began to beat like the wings of a bird, and her stomach lurched like it had _that_ day. She could not forget the sounds, the feel of that moment. Like the universe had watched and done nothing.

Her feet dragged her to the commotion before her mind could catch up; her body practically wailing not to go in that direction, not to go back to the memories. Her heart had made up its mind, she would not watch and sit pleasantly, while another was harmed. Not when she could fight. And she would fight.

She gripped the knife in her sweaty palms.

She saw the membranes, the large stature of the Illyrian. She could not see the woman, but she knew. By the sounds of her cries, she knew.

The fire in her roared back to life, her eyes stinging from the sheer intensity. He was going to burn and a delicious triumph filled her at the task.

She moved like the night and placed the knife on his throat. She did not wait for his approval or applause. Her arm moved swiftly and the blade glided along his skin like a lover’s caress. She managed to lug the bastard sideways before he toppled the girl. A part of her yearned for the sweet torment; she wished she had more time to play with him.

She was no more than 16. The picture of Feyre flashed through her mind and her breathing became rapid. Her eyes taking in all of her, scanning where he had touched. Hoping, yearning that she had gotten to her soon enough.

Her eyes were red rimmed, her nightgown tucked all around her. Her knees clasped firmly to her body. She looked up at Nesta, and she saw gratitude and an ice she knew well. A deep breath steadied her uneasy heart. Her blasted fae body had not failed her.

“I’m going to help you stand up, okay?”

The girl nodded, cheeks wet and eyes dazed. Nesta could see the cuts and bends of her wings, her heart clenched, her mind suddenly far away. They were damaged but not unfixable.

The girl led her to a small hut on the outskirts of the camp. Farther than most houses. Nesta’s head spun. She suddenly hated this camp. Hated its bitter cold, it’s mountains, its people, its treatment of women. Her fire swelled, she wanted it to burn. To all burn down.

“Thank you.” The girl said, looking down, momentarily distracting Nesta from her rage.

She couldn’t leave this girl, here, alone. Couldn’t allow herself to leave her fend for herself. _Never again._ The knife was still dripping with blood, but Nesta placed it in the girl’s hands.

“Use it and don’t hesitate. You can and will protect yourself.”

The young girl looked up at Nesta, and for the first time, she could see the pale green eyes and the innocence contained within them. She hoped it would never dull. The girl nodded her head and receded inside.

Nesta felt pained to leave, seeing Feyre’s face over and over again. She stayed guarding the door until the crack of dawn approached. She would not leave sooner; she wouldn’t have slept anyways. The sounds haunted the echoes of her sanity, sounds that reminded her too much of her own.

* * *

 

An uproar stormed the camp when they found the body. Blood pooled on the ground. She was unapologetic. He was one of their strongest warriors; but he used his strength for more than his advantage. As far as she was concerned, he deserved what he received.

She hadn’t told Cassian what had happened, but some part of her knew that he would have done the same. Even promised on her behalf.

When he had seen the body, he glanced at her. She doubted she could tell the smallest lie, without him knowing. Nesta thought she saw admiration in his gaze. The cut was clean, straight through the jugular. The work of someone who valued precision.

She had sent solvent and bandages to the girl. Her wings and body needed to heal. She wouldn’t be able to do anything for a while. Her mind needed to, as well. She hoped she found the strength to carry on and fight. But she knew the fire that roared in her, did not ignite in everyone.

She had tried to train with Cassian, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions. She fixed him with a fiery gaze when he seemed like he wanted to, he quickly backed off.

“You can talk to me if you want.” His eyes clearly hoping she’d tell him.

“I’m really not in the talkative mood.” She punched and he parried. He was quiet, too quiet. She waited for the inevitable and she wasn’t the least bit surprised when the silence ended.

“Why’d you, do it?” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“What happened to ‘talking about it’ being an option.” Cassian’s lips twitched.

“It was until you refused to tell me. Now it’s more like a strong suggestion.”

His eyes twinkled, and irritation itched up her spine. She looked up at him, steel solidifying itself in her stance, sweat dripping from her brow.

“I will never be weak again.”

Nesta turned to move away, wanting to be anywhere far from him, his infuriating care, and his know-it-all attitude. Cassian sighed.

“I don’t know why you keep saying that. I’m convinced you have never been weak in your entire life.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Nesta pondered on the thought.

“No one with an attitude like yours can be weak and submissive,” His voice exasperated.

She tried not to feel touched at the words. She wanted to be strong, _needed_ to be strong. She tried to convince herself it was for Elain and Feyre, and it was, but it was for her too. To keep her from remembering, to keep her sane when the world was falling around her and crumbling beneath her feet. 

“He tried to rape her.”

Cassian stilled at the sound. Turning towards him, she saw his hands clenching. A vein in his neck protruded. His silence lethal.

“That prick…”

“He’s dead, there’s no use in being angry now.” She said monotonously.

Cassian’s chest rose sharply. She could see pure, unadulterated rage still swirling in the hazel of his eyes. She knew her death was a mercy compared to whatever Cassian would have planned. And he would have planned it, he was detailed like that.

“Next time something like this happens, tell me.” He pleaded.

“I can handle it.” Nesta spoke, fists clenching at her side like a petulant child.

Cassian stared at her, a renewed spark in his gaze and something else, something much more rash and dangerous.  His voice low and gradual.

“I know you can, sweetheart. But the next time someone wants to hurt anyone like that, they won’t be getting a swift cut to the throat.”

Etched in a seriousness Nesta had rarely seen on his sculpted face, Cassian, the commander, stood before her. She gave him a small smile, one that was everything fatal and death-defying.

* * *

 

She was going to get new bandages when she saw her again. Her wings still covered and healing. Although the bruises were fading, they were clearly visible.

She should not be working, was the first thought that came to Nesta. The mother hen in her wanted this girl to march straight back to her home and not step back out until she didn’t look like she could collapse at any moment.

She kept her head down, washing dishes. She did not look up. Nesta suddenly felt sorry that she hadn’t learned the girls name, but that feeling was quickly overcome by the sheer vexation that started to make a path throughout her body.

“What are you doing?” The girl’s head sharply turned to view her at the doorway. When recognition filled her gaze, she suddenly developed a liking for looking everywhere but at her. She tilted her head down, and her eyes found Nesta’s. The pain was still painted in the color of her irises.

“They told me I had to continue,” she softly spoke,” with my chores.”

Nesta’s spine stiffened and her whole body stilled at the proclamation.

“Go home.” Nesta sounded, opening the door wide and holding her hand out to the outside, “I’ll take care of it from here.”

Swaying her head side to side was the only effect she had on the girl. She lowered her eyes once more, and Nesta swore she wanted to yank her head up and hold it there. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch, this habit of hers infuriated Nesta. A motion of weakness and submissive conduct. A person who didn’t know the strength she held in her own bare hands.

“I do not wish to anger them.” The young girl finally spoke. A defiant smirk made its way onto Nesta’s face. _Oh, but she did_.

“Go, and do not make me tell you again.”

She rushed out before Nesta could hold the door open once more.

* * *

 

She met Lord Devlon in the center of the camp, surrounded by his many puppets. She tried not to let the disgust show on her face at the sight of him. A man who wouldn’t let a young girl heal was not a man at all. Or a good person for that matter. She could feel the ire twists its way around her lungs, but it did nothing to suffocate her flames. Her fire needed very little to roar like the monster it was.

“Why in the world would you make a person who is suffering from bruises and wounds do your dirty work?” She questioned, trapping her annoyance in a jar she tightly held the lid to. Lord Devlon’s bored and nonchalant gaze stared back at her.

“If she can’t do a simple task, even while her wings are damaged, how will she ever be ready for battle? It’s a minor cut, maybe the pain will make her work harder.” His voice condescending and crass.

The memories flashed inside her mind, a series of images she had yet to forget. Couldn’t even if she tried. The girl’s bent wings, her innocent face, her trembling limbs. The cries that ceased to stop pounding Nesta’s skull. Her enmity trapped in a jar that was all but ready to combust from the pressure.

Nesta couldn’t control the speed in which she grabbed his neck, nails digging into flesh. His eyes widened, his guards too slow for her wild fire. Her grip tightened. She wanted him to feel her pain, feel the girl’s pain; for all the women who still lacked freedom and who would never be able to grasp the stars.

“Hmm,” she whispered, “I wonder how you’ll rule when I snap your neck.”

She looked at the wings behind him, knew the value of such precious objects. Treasures taken away from those who were only obedient and compliant to their every whim and desire. The voice inside of her screamed to be let out of the prison she was trapped in. Her free hand grazed the delicate, skin. He shuddered, pupils dilating. She could see the hatred pouring out of him.  

“Or maybe, I’ll let you live.” Her stare scalding his skin; her grip tightening further. “You know I’ve always wanted to see what the appeal of these pretty wings are. Maybe I’ll just take them from you.”

His body stilled. The guards did nothing, waiting for a signal that would be too late if she intended to kill him. She leaned in closer to his ear. For his ears, and his alone.

“If you don’t protect these girls, I will.”

She lifted her hand off his neck and turned away, reigning in the fire that left her gasping for air. The guards were too stunned to move. When they had at lasted gained their footing, they reached for their swords. Lord Devlon had only raised his hand and they silenced their movements.

She walked out, feeling equally light and dizzy. Power coursed through her veins, she could feel it’s movements, enraptured in its bewildering song. She swaying her hips to the beat of the pride she just took from his soul. When she reached the end of the walkway, she merely turned her head to once again glance at the behooved faces watching her. Her lips tilted up, as deadly as a viper.

“I almost forgot,” she said loud and clear, “the girls will start training with me from now on.”

They stared at her for a long while, not quite contemplating her statement.

“Go get them.” Nesta sneered.  

Lord Devlon nodded hurriedly, and the guards tripped over themselves to get to the door. They passed her on the way out, their heads practically falling off from how hard they were nodding.

“We’re, we’re going to go them, right now.”

Nesta didn’t so much as blink before she turned and walked out. Shoulders back and head held high, a task that was getting easier to do every time. She did not look back, but she knew they were watching. She was a threat, as dangerous and lethal as any enemy they had made before this. She smiled at the thought.

* * *

 

Huddled together on the outskirts of the camp, where no prying, judgmental, or doubtful eyes could make these women second themselves, Nesta had called a meeting. She had wondered where all the women were kept, when the men were trained and valued. She felt a shame for her sex, to be only known as child-bearers or lovers or chore-doers. For not being given a choice of being any of those things. _Never again._

“I am not going to proclaim myself your leader. I’m not in charge of you, I don’t make your decisions. I understand you have not had many choices in your lifetimes, so I’ll give you one right now. I can train you to protect yourselves, to protect each other, but only if you want it.”

For a while no one spoke, many didn’t even look up at Nesta’s face. The girl with the bandaged wings only glanced to acknowledge her.

“No one is going to fight on your behalf. The won’t protect your wings or your freedom.”  Her throat clenched, her body shaking from the adrenaline at the mere mention of entrapment.

“They’re can’t protect you, when they want to strip you of your only chances of survival, when they want to keep you polished and pretty like the prizes they take from conquered lands.”

Several women stared at the glistening floor, cleaned by their more than strong and capable hands. Hands that could yield weapons and make enemies flee with terror.

“They’re not going to let us train.” A brave voice spoke out. A young woman with the stance of a warrior. Potential, potential. These women could be weapons of war, instead of spoils of one.

“As soon as you leave, they’re going to stop letting us train, and we’ll be back where we started.”

Nesta’s eyes trailed the room, looking at each of these unknowingly powerful people. She had already thought of that solution before she walked into the room.

“I don’t think you understand that you hold a great power in being women, though I’m sure they’ll tell you differently.” One by one, they began to face her. Eye to eye. “Who will have their children, who will give them love and fuel their egos, who will offer them sex? No one,” She enunciated,” if they disrespect you, your bodies, and your wings.”

She could see the light entering their eyes, their stances becoming strong and straight. Creatures of midnight and fury.  

“And let’s say that they try. I’ll teach you to fight so well, they’ll tremble at the very sight of you.” Nesta smiled wickedly.

“All of you are capable of being strong, of fighting back. Training or no training. Wings or no wings. Give them what they gave you.” Nesta toured the room, meeting each of them head on. “But here’s your first lesson, and maybe the last if you choose not to train. One, you are sisters whether you fight together or not, you must protect each other. You are only as strong as the weakest one of you, but together, you are an unstoppable force. A tempest that cannot be controlled.”

Nesta shook her head at the pure wonder before her. At the hope and pride she found her in voice; at the strength, she felt in the very core of her being. For the first time in her blasted fae body, she recognized herself, recognized her broken pieces that molded together to become able and resilient.

“Who will fight with me?”

The smile that appeared on her face, and the light that seeped into her eyes could not be contained at the movement before her. Starting now, the skies were limitless and she’d be damned if she never touched the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it (crossing my fingers) tell me what you think!


	3. Combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta’s showdown with Hybern 
> 
> I wrote this while eating a quart of holiday ice cream that was bomb asf and listening to Capsize by Frenship, Freak by Molly Sanden, and Love is Here by Tracey Chattaway, Heroes by Zayde Wolf, and Can’t Take It In by Imogen Heap. 
> 
> Of course, there’s probably typos, ignore them, I’ll fix them later. Anyways, read away and I hope you enjoy!

The satisfaction of instilling fear into anyone that dared oppose her did nothing to stop the fracture that was slowly expanding inside her soul. But oh, did it make it so pleasurable. No, that void could only be filled by Hybern’s head on a stake before her. Only then would she relax; only then would she breathe.  

The hours waned. Days turning into nights, nights turning into days. Never stopping, never slowing. Nesta continued to train. Building her stamina, her endurance, her strength. Becoming a weapon crafted by midnight and magic; a monster made of war and fire. She refused to lose. She had lost too much already.

She remembers the pitiful beginning of her fae existence, remembers clenching her fists and her fears, promising that one day, Hybern would get exactly what he gave her and _more_. Those women, with their crowns and their egos, with hunger in their eyes and greed in their bodies, they would find out who the real queen was. The steady beat of her heart told her she was ready. Ready to destroy the world and all who challenged her fire.

* * *

Feyre and Rhysand had called a meeting. The cards were set, and it was almost time to show their hand. A battle would begin that was inevitable. But losing was not. She refused to lose, refused to die at the hands of the people who took her life away.

They had discussed positions, formations, and strategies that would be the most advantageous. They discussed weaknesses in their enemy’s lines. Powers that they could be used against them. It was when they were deliberating allies that Nesta felt the pressure building. They didn’t want to bring in humans. Not after those queens.

Sentence after sentence made Nesta’s head turn, a tornado of thoughts destroying all sense of decorum. They couldn’t just give up on them. It was like giving up on her.  She stood up before her mind knew what it was doing.

“If the humans know the truth, they will fight.”

Rhysand sighed. “I wish that was true Nesta, but the fact is, if those queens are willing to betray us, who else will? We can’t give our enemy the advantage.”

Her fists clenched, and her spirit rose. “Let me do it. Let me convince them.”

Mor spoke this time, facing her. Warrior to warrior. “Humans have changed drastically since the last war. Even you feared the fae, even you hated us. Do you think others won’t? They will act as you did, and then where will we be? No, it’s better if we just take the army we have and move out.”

The words brought a spark out of Nesta she couldn’t control. Nesta’s fist pounded the table. It rattled from her impact. Her eyes were red, and her face, flushed. They didn’t understand, they could never understand.

“There is a chance my people will die. There was always a chance. But they will not be killed because of Hybern; they will die because you didn’t give them a choice between death and slavery.”

Nesta’s eyes stung and her voice shook from repressed rage.

“Hybern will not kill them, he will enslave every single human until they beg him to let them go, till they crawl on their knees and weep before him, and he will laugh at their misery. If you do not let them fight, if you don’t give them a choice, to live or die, you have already enslaved them.”

Her heart pounded, wanting to escape her chest. It was Cassian who arose from his seat. He walked towards her slowly and stood at her side.

“We’ll convince the humans, together, and we won’t come back until we do.” He bowed his head at his high lord. “To serve and protect.”

She couldn’t read Rhysand’s eyes, dark swirls of night only Feyre could interpret. He merely nodded his head at his brother.

“I’ll give you two weeks. This war will start with or without them, and that’s not a choice I can make.”

Nesta’s soul settled at the words. She could convince them, she could.

* * *

It was inevitable; it had been since the first war between human and fae. The ability to believe in a lie was easy enough under the right circumstances. The idea that some were better than others, that power somehow made people important.

Hybern, Tamlin, every fae she used to think. Every fae was like this. But she began to reason with herself, if she could train these warriors to be equal to men and _believe_ it, then perhaps it wasn’t just a problem between human and fae. Maybe it didn’t matter who the enemy was, someone would always think they had the upper hand, that they could take someone’s freedom like it was something easy to lose.

Nesta began to believe that war was necessary. Not only for the fact that Hybern deserved it, because he did. But because change needed to begin, or else they’d all be stuck in lives they didn’t ask for.

Tactically, she understood that the chances were slim, and it was in Rhysand’s best interest to count his allies, and not add to his enemies. But the once human part of her told her he was a coward. One betrayal, didn’t mean the betrayal of all.

They have begun their track to the human realm as soon as the meeting adjourned. They’d bring few weapons. Making the humans fear them wasn’t what they were after. Cassian flew them across the wall and into the realm of short lives and sorrow. That’s all her past life ever was.

“I’m glad the humans have you as their supporter, that you trust them enough to go into battle.”

Nesta shook her head. No.

“I _don’t_ trust them. Humans are fickle creatures, they only care about themselves.”

Cassian’s gazed turned questioning. “Then why?”

“The advantage lies in them fighting with us and you fae underestimate the spirit of humanity. They will not fight for unity or a hope that they believe is false, but they will fight to save themselves and the people they love. No matter who it’s with.”

Cassian adjusted Nesta in his arms. He stared directly at her, prying open the door she wouldn’t allow him to enter. He only nodded at her resolve. The campaign would begin whether she let him into her mind or not.

“Well, this isn’t going to be easy. It may cost us our lives.” He said nonchalantly.

Nesta rolled her eyes. If this failed, it would cost them more than just their lives.

* * *

They went to cities upon cities. Stubborn humans who hated fae. They wouldn’t listen no matter the consequences, no matter the outcome.  They had tried reasoning with councils and governments. When logic didn’t ignite action, they had tried fear. They would die if they did not help. But they would rather trust in their weak and frail technology then rumors of a long and bloody war.

By the end of the eighth night, Nesta was exhausted. Her spirit dwindling and her faith leaking into an infinitesimal amount. Maybe they were a lost cause after all. The shadows in her eyes grew, a darkness sweeping her into an oblivion she would likely never leave.

Cassian noticed her reproachful eyes. He titled his head and analyzed the plans he could see churning in that gracious head of hers. Nesta was lost to reality. Her head was miles away. She finally looked at him, and told him that she was going to rest in her room. Wasn’t much of a room, but it was something. When she turning to leave, he grabbed her arm.

“Nesta, wait.” The expression on her face must have told him enough, because he quickly let go. He took a deep breath and he spoke softly, “The week isn’t over yet. There’s still time. There’s still hope.”

She straightened her back. “Why are you tell me this?” She questioned. Her brows furrowing in a scowl reserved only for the brave who crossed her. Cassian stared into her cold eyes that somehow didn’t seem as bitter as before.

“Because, this is life, and no matter what happens, no matter how much time we get, there will always be hope.” The gleam in Nesta’s eyes spoke truths. They were running out of time. She slowly nodded and wished him a goodnight. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. _There was still hope._

* * *

Nesta awoke to the sounds of chatter. She quickly got up and grabbed her weapon. She was still the enemy in this world. When she opened the door, Cassian was already at the fore front. His expression of disbelief was all she needed to know.

There before her was a group of humans, men and women, alike. They carried weapons, but they were not pointed at them. Their clothes were gray and dingy, their bodies half-starved, but the sheen in their eyes told her they were willing and ready.

The man at the front spoke before the rest of them. “Our monarchs don’t care for our well-being. They would rather see us starve than to give up their wealth.” The others nodded in agreement. “We know that this war is real, we know that it won’t end well for us.”

The man hesitated. And though he shook and his eyes were coated in fear, he stood his ground and looked her in the eye. This was a warrior; someone they could trust. He had more to lose than she did. “But we will stand by your side. To live or die. We won’t let our children and families mourn the future they haven’t experienced.”

Nesta could feel the sting in her eyes start to progress. She looked at all of them, not many, but enough. Enough to spur others to do the same. To resist the need to hide under governments of canopies and lace. They everything to lose, but they would go down fighting if they had to. To protect the people, they loved.

Her chest felt lighter than air, she couldn’t contain the dreams that danced along her vision. Dreams of lives entwined. Human and fae. For the first time, she understood why the Night Court fought so hard. Freedom and acceptance were something worth fighting for. And she would go down fighting.

* * *

She had trained for this day. Yearned for it since the beginning. But now, there was much more on the line. Lives she hadn’t cared about before. They were all risking slavery or death. She would win or die today, but the thought of her family, of the people she influenced becoming treasures captured, made Nesta’s stomach churn.

She looked at the view ahead of her. The armies stood before them. Thousands of fae who had sworn allegiance to Hybern. Out of fear or power she didn’t know, didn’t care to find out. They were all going to atone for their sins. Even so, they were severely outnumbered. The numbers told the truth, her mind kept repeating.

Even with the Night and Summer Court, even with the humans in all their armor and faith, even with the trained Illyrians, it wasn’t enough. Their chances were low. Still, she grasped the doubt and shoved it in the back of her mind. There were only two option and one would happen today. She would make damn sure it was Hybern who would pay in the end.  

She heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see where it was coming from. Illyrian warriors, all women, made of blood, leather, and brass. Ready for war and sacrifice. They landed in perfect formation, the ones without wings carried by their companions. They were not fully trained, there wasn’t enough time. They had excluded them when they were making plans, the camp leaders wouldn’t let them fight, and they had bigger problems than gaining more enemies. It was the only proposition they had allowed them.

The young girl she had met, what felt like eons ago, was the one to address the company.  “High Lord, though you have not sent for us, we are more than capable. We wish to fight.” The others nodded their assent. Backs straight, heads held high, equal to any man. Could rival them in strength and virtue. Could surpass them, as well.

“We wish to stand by our sister, Nesta. Wherever this war may take us or however it ends.” Resilient is what she called them, for the steel she saw in their eyes. They would not back down. They would never settle, never be anyone’s breeders. She taught them well, and pride swelled inside her chest.

Rhysand lowered his head, a bow of respect, of honor. Nesta’s head was still spinning. She was not alone. The thought was enough to send her a thousand miles in the clouds. She could and would do this. No one could take the sweetness of victory away from her. Because it was a victory to lead them, to train them, and to stand by them.

She’d fight next to her sisters, for her sisters. She thought it was a fitting way to end this. And although the ego inside her cringed at the thought, she was grateful she was fae.

* * *

The fae came at them in droves. The slashing of weapons and the sound of grunts were the only sounds she heard. She felt the bursts of energy, felt the magic that surrounded them. Feyre with her multitudes of power, Rhysand with his night that swallowed people whole. Azriel with his shadows and Cassian with his lethal agility and deadly force. Mor, a sharpened blade that cut the enemy in pieces. But Amren was the worst of them, a bomb that was ready to explode.

Alongside them, humans and Illyrians were fighting for their lives. Fighting for their liberation and strength. She sliced, cut, and bruised any enemy that stood before her. They wanted fire, she would gladly burn. The armies moved closer, but they kept the lines down. Hybern’s fae littered the ground in a sea of suffering. They chose the wrong side to be allied with.

She felt the energy, felt the power build up and up. It ignited and did not wane. She did not let it falter, it would rage to the very end. Her body would not fail her now.

She sensed the movement before she saw it. Her heart urged her to look, to be cautious. She felt as if someone was walking on her grave. She moved to investigate this feeling, swinging her sword, killing the fae coming at her. She glanced around and her eyes found Cassian. Alarms went off in her head and she couldn’t stop the noise.

All she could see was the enemy coming at Cassian’s unprotected back. His wings. Something flashed inside of her that she couldn’t control. She moved her body with reckless abandon, gutting and maiming any fae that stood in her way. Those were her wings to protect.

She was behind him, arms wide. Bared and naked to the blunt of a sword. A sharp edge traveled along her back in a leisure caress. The sting bit at her, forcing her to clench her mouth to restrain the scream. Her head, fuzzy along every corner, focused in on Cassian’s safe and strong wings. She wished she could touch them, to reach out to them and see if the skin was as soft as it looked.

The world held its breath, turning the chaos into a momentary reprieve. The silence a roar of thunder. In front of her, Cassian turned, eyes widening. Horror and bewilderment painting his irises a strong bronze. Beneath the sheen, she could see something else, something painted like wonder.

Nesta shut her eyes, savoring the feel of a bond made concrete. As solid as her will and the blade at her side. When her gaze, once again, met his, her chest felt lighter. Her small smile was the only confirmation she gave him. To alleviate the concern etched in his brows. She’d fight with him. She’d fight for him.

They’d fight together. Two raging infernos burning brighter than the hottest star.

Her smile quickly turned cruel. Her eyes taking on the color of storm clouds. She was a tempest and she would gladly destroy. She would be the killer, if only to keep her family from dying. But it was more than that. It was to appease the monster that had taken over her soul. The one who thirsted for blood and hungered for vengeance.

She stared at Cassian, and with a wickedness that made her heart ice-cold, turned to face the assailant. He’d be the first to go. For even daring to go after something precious to her.

She felt no pain, though blood spilled on the ground before her. Her hands pressed to her back. Nesta felt the cool touch of blood, saw the stain it left on her fingertips. Her sight locked onto the fae, dressed in armor head to toe. Too bad it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough. She attacked before he could even lift his sword. Ignorant in a war made by fools.

Her first victim, the fae, received a slice to the throat. Her second, a stab in the chest. Her third had fallen on her sword, head first. The pleasure built in Nesta’s chest, fueling her endeavor, goading her to continue. The power purred, a satisfaction that made shivers drift up her spine in a sweet and bitter embrace. She liked this game she played. The magic made her hands tremble, a need to unleash the lion from its cage.

Soldier after soldier, Nesta ripped and roared. She had had enough of this. This battle was hers to own and control. She could see Hybern’s men, one after one, fall to the ground beneath her feet. A carpet of victory and defeat. He had made a mistake taking her against her will. Forcing her sister in that cauldron, while he made her helplessly watch. He underestimated how much she was willing to go to make him pay.

She locked eyes with him, never breaking the chain of hesitation she witnessed on his face. Stared into those wayward eyes, so much like her own. Her lips turned upwards in a mocking salute to a king who would reign no longer. To a king who’s villainous had corrupted her heart.

She lost sight of her sisters in arms. Couldn’t see Feyre, Mor, or Amren besting foes and conquering enemies. She did not witness Rhysand or Azriel protecting their loved ones with every magic welled within them. She did not observe the way Cassian fought his way to her, only felt the soft touch of a love she would never know or appreciate, only felt his worry.

Her battle wasn’t with them. The fight lied in front of her. She did not look back.

* * *

Hybern tried to use his power. He sent waves of magic at her. They didn’t stop the storm from growing; they only fueled her fire. His wind obliterated everything in its wake, taking the lives of many of his own soldiers. He did not care. This was his end and he knew it. He had made an enemy out of her, a weapon crafted to kill. The only person she wanted to destroy was him.

She kept her head up and her back straight. Fae came at her, she dodged and parried, but they still cut and wounded. She welcomed the pain, her whole life was a pain. It did not weaken her resolve.

She was quickly losing blood and her magic felt like a weight too heavy to carry. Even she was not invincible. The current of power kept coming and she kept moving. She refused to stop. Somewhere down that bond, she felt his apprehension, felt his worry. She ignored it. The only thing that mattered right now, was Hybern screaming from the pain she inflicted.

Her ebbing power told her it was almost over. That she had two options: to give up now, or die trying. Her mind had already made the decision long before this battle waged. But her muscles tightened and her eyes grew weary. She screamed in agony. She could not be stopped; she would not be overthrown. The being inside of her pulled on its cage, wanting to be let out. It wanted to play. She stared at Hybern, saw his triumphant smile at her faltering, at her weakness. The fire grew. The bitterness grew. Her hatred grew. Nesta’s knees hit the pavement. And when the last blast sounded, something in her heart ruptured. The prisoner trapped in her soul had escaped.

* * *

Wings ruptured out of her back, the color of embers and victory. Beating, powerful and strong. She could feel the heat from them on her face. Feathers and fire. Feathers _made_ of fire. A fierce wind blasted from her wings, and the air around her turned heavy and hot. Her arms raised and her chest felt the air, the breeze, the freedom.

The monster had won the battle, but this monster, she recognized. The monster was her. With all the grace of a phoenix. One and the same. Her eyes sharpened on the real demon before her. Hybern. He’d pay for what he made her into, what he made Elain become.

She shot up in the sky before the next wave hit and when she came back down, Hybern was her target. She did not let him win.

* * *

She cut his throat, shallow enough to choke on air. He dropped to his knees. Weak and trembling. The pleasure inched up her back. Her lips tilted upwards and her eyes darkened. He was going to feel this, all of it. Her lips pursed as she spoke.

“You will feel your lungs collapsing, and your body will start to convulse. It will want air, thinking it will be its salvation. But the breaths you take in will only burn your chest. You will drown in a sea of regrets for what you did to us.”

She took her blade and stabbed it in his chest. Near the beating and blood that kept Hybern alive. Beads of sweat dripping down his body. She could hear the shallow intakes of air.

“I will make this death faster. I will grant you the mercy, you did not afford me.  This is for my sister and her mate. The one’s you separated. Forcing them to endure a time without each other, to watch, while the other suffered.”

The blade in her hands landed on his soldier. She lifted it up and it came toppling down, a stack of cards falling by the force of gravity. The sharpened blade cut his arm off cleanly.

He looked at the severed limb, horror painting his face in red. The world was silent. She did not look back to see how they were faring.

“The arm is for my family. The new ones and the old. You tried to take away a freedom that wasn’t yours to take. A freedom that I promised to protect at all costs. You will endure their pain.”

She stared into his red rimmed eyes. Her chest hollow, her soul at peace. Her eyes glistening to the life she lost and the new one she gained. Her pulse thrumming to the sound of a family she had never truly had, and all the ones she now considered to be. This was for them.

“Let this be your lesson. Ponder on this, in the hell you’ll experience. You made a monster come to life in a soul that was already burning. You tried to extinguish a flame that is uncontrollable and enduring, but you cannot smother independence and a strong will.

You created a monster to destroy the world, but that monster has destroyed you and everything you stand for. Maybe in another life, you’ll remember this. But in case you don’t, in case you lose all sense of who you are, know that I could care less either way.”

She gripped her sword in her hands, tightening her fists in a calm embrace. Hybern shut his eyes, his head lowering in a solemn bow. Her arms rose higher, the blade watching in anticipation. Her swing, with precision and grace, did not miss its target. Hybern’s head rolled near her feet.

Nesta kneeled, grabbing his head in her hands. Bloody and demolished. She stared into the eyes that had made her this way. She whispered a secret to his cooling corpse.

“This was for me.”

* * *

The sun was starting to set, an image that she knew Feyre would like to paint. She saw the golds blending with the reds, an art made by the universe itself. She felt the wind kiss her face in gratitude, and stood facing the new world. Though the beginnings had been grim, she thought it was time. Time for a life without hatred or fear, a time for wonder and hope.

She had conquered the beast, only to realize the beast was her. But it settled inside of her. Calm in the face of adversity, but at rest for the future ahead. No matter where she’d end up, no matter what she’d experience, she was never alone. And she’d fight, fight to make sure no one else was either.

Minutes passed, but Nesta felt like it had been centuries. She wondered how things could change in mere moments, as if she could see the future in ribbons and it drifted before her, taunting her to just wait and see. Wait and see what it had in store. The future seemed to wink at Nesta. She found she didn’t mind so much. She had a very long future ahead of her.

Hearing the cough woke her from her daze. She turned her head back to see who had interrupted the happiest thoughts she’d had since being in this body. It was only Cassian, with that look, the look that was reserved only for her. She smiled softly at him. She couldn’t have found the fight without him, him and those blasted wings.

She saw Feyre and Rhysand, together, coming before her. Glanced at Amren looking at her with a wicked gleam in her eyes, of pride. Azriel and Mor were embracing, lost to each other in a meadow of thoughts and gestures. The Illyrians landing in perfect grace, shouting in victory of a war won well. They were all marred, bruised and bloody. Scratches like tattoos. Nesta felt honored to have even witnessed this day, to know these people, to call them her own.

She looked back at the sunset before her, night slowly waking up and wishing the sun farewell. The small smile grew and her eyes closed. Her wings could feel the breeze, and her heart felt light. She had found freedom. She had fought for freedom. No one would take that away from her. No one would take that away from anyone.

She reluctantly faced her family, not wanting them to witness the astonishment coloring her face. Her back was straight, and her wings spread wide. She stared at the kneeling fae before her. Soldiers of Hybern. The picture made her dazed. She looked at her family, and they too began to kneel before her. Her eyes widened, and confusion caused her mind to itch.

“Queen Nesta. We swear our allegiance to thee. Long may you reign.” A fae in the front shouted, followed by a hearty assent. Long may she reign. She stood before them all, as only Nesta. A roaring fire that would never cease.

Perhaps that’s just what they needed, because that’s what they were going to get. She was a wild fire and she would calm for no one.

* * *

They had moved along after that. Moving their meeting into Hybern’s castle. A palace of lies and deceit. She would make this a place of justice and free will. The other fae had tried to follow her, she had shut them down. They would not be near when her energy ceased to keep her moving, wouldn’t give anyone the advantage over her like that.

Elain had taken the humans to a room far from the eyes and ears of the people who, just moments ago, had tried to kill all of them. She made sure they didn’t get any ideas. Elain fed them and dressed their wounds. They loved her like everyone always did. Nesta figured the only person who could be gentle and kind enough for them was Elain.

Nesta glanced at the intricate details of the palace. A castle of gold and silver, paid for by the blood of his enemies. She saw the throne that lied in the middle of the foyer. The molding depicted humans and fae, alike, screaming in agony. That would be the first to go.

When the silence became deafening and her thoughts antagonizing her weary body, her family swarmed her. Feyre hugged her, touching her cheek to her own. They smiled at her, proud of her. She felt complete, whole. She had people she could trust, who trusted her. People she could dream with and love with. People who could see her as monster, because they all were. Together they’d change the world.

She felt the tingling of warmth deep inside of her, felt the acceptance and joy. She looked up and met his eyes. Her mouth opened and she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. They parted for her and Cassian, making a path to each other.

Her feet moved on their own accord, and his gaze softened. He looked down; he was so much taller than her. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, but dreariness set in. She felt the weight settle, it wouldn’t be prolonged any longer. She felt the agreement through the bond, felt him telling her to rest.

She leaned into his chest and closed her eyes. There was always tomorrow. She smiled in her sleepy daze. They still had tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing this and I hope you like reading this! Tell me what you think about it. Did it suck, were you interested, do you wish there were more, or maybe less? 
> 
> Also, this wasn’t suppose to be the last part and twas suppose to be longer but I got impatient. There was a Part 4: Coherence, except idk if I should just stop here. Plus, I have no idea what that would even be about, so if you have any ideas let me know. It’s worth a shot. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it and see you next time on Nessian Fanfiction: A fan girl’s dream.


	4. Coherence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessian bonding and all that jazz! Last part (Maybe)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is sort of NSFW, so be forewarned. I consider this soft smut, because I don’t really make this detailed. It’s just there.

She awoke to soft fingertips gliding along her skin. A pattern of delicate caresses leaving shivers in its wake. The paleness of the room was alight in moonshine and stardust. Her heartbeat reminded her that she was as tangible as the hope that rose in her chest. Her body was warm, cocooned in a thick layer of blankets, blocking the cold from reaching her. The simple gesture made her body sing.

Nesta lifted her head, though it pounded to the beat of nonexistent drums. She felt like she had been trampled on by some rogue Illyrians, then remembered that the being she fought against was much worse. Everything came back to her in a matter of moments, the knife across her back, the wings that set the world on fire, the bloody end of the creature who welcomed death far more than she did.

Her shoulders relaxed at the memory. She had won. Nesta had mastered her fate; she had looked at the monster in the mirror and had not flinched. She was fae but she not weak or fragile. She was strong and capable, and that was the difference. That was the turning point in this war; she had _never_ been weak or fragile.

The real monster wasn’t her. It wasn’t the power that sometimes seemed to control her; it wasn’t the fact that she seemed merciless and uncaring. The real enemy wasn’t the person who changed, body _or_ mind, it was the person who forced others to. Selfish, ruthless, cruel individuals. Ones, Nesta would take care of and proudly.  

But her body ached from the thought. Not now. Right now, she would rest. She wasn’t mentally or physically prepared for any more battles. Her muscles were sore and even moving her arm was a struggle. She managed and, though, she had only moved an inch, it roused the dozing giant next to her.

“Nesta.”

Her head moved at the sound of his sweet voice. She winced from the abrupt gesture. Cassian looked at her, wide eyed, concern painted in his brow. One side of his face was red where he had rested, though he looked like he hadn’t slept well. Or at all. She knew he would have been too worried to sleep, knew it, because she would have been too. They took care of each other.

“Nesta.” He whispered in a reverent prayer.

He shifted towards her, a pull so strong even she couldn’t resist. He rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. She could feel the strong beat of his heart and the steady movements of his lungs.

She was grateful to feel them, when everything could have ended so differently. Maybe that was why she felt so composed. It could have been so much worse, but it wasn’t. They were going to be okay, they were alive, _they were together_.

They would never be the same. But change was a good thing, it was often necessary and _always_ inevitable. Change was progress, and she’d build her life on it. Nesta traced his face with the edge of her fingertips. His eyes reminded her of autumn leaves.

“How could you have done that? Why would you do that?” His voice breaking as he shook his head, clenching his eyes together.

She rose from her knees and slowly lifted his face. Eye to eye, the only way she’d meet Cassian. A warmth bloomed in her chest.

She couldn’t control the tears threatening to spill from her eyes; she invited these feelings with open arms. Cassian, he could see her cry. Cry for the life she had, the life she never wanted and rarely enjoyed, cry for the torment they’d both experienced, cry for the sake that they were together once more. They were not alone, not together. And so, she wept, and smiled, and endured.

She rubbed her thumb underneath his eyes where stray tears had made a path along his handsome face. His cheeks glistened, but his eyes hardened before he spoke.

“You’re my mate.”

Cassian stared at her, waiting. He almost looked down in fear, before Nesta had firmly grasped his face in her hands. Urging him to look at her, to see what he made her feel. Her nose touched his. She closed her eyes and she couldn’t keep the moon from shining along her face.

“I know. Believe me I know.”

She could feel his stare. When she opened her eyes, she saw his had widened. A hesitation, but also a hope. She was full of that lately, there was enough for the both of them.

“I think I always knew.”

Cassian leaned back, grasping her cheeks in his large palms.

“When I turned, and saw you take the blow, I knew it would’ve destroyed my wings. And still, I wished you would have let it hit me. It would have been easier to deal with than having to live without you.”

His chest rose with every word. A truth to build upon. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his voice, even her heart seemed to quiet its vociferous roar. Nesta shook her head in refusal, but Cassian continued.

“And when I saw your knees hit the pavement, I swore I’d kill every last fae who tried to touch you.”

The conviction in his voice formed a heat within her that she couldn’t control. Her chest rose sharply. He never once broke his gaze away from hers.

The room quieted, and the silence calmed their erratic heart beats. After a moment, Cassian, once again, rested his forehead against hers.  Some part of them had to touch the other, they weren’t ready to let go.

“Are you okay with this? Because we don’t have to be together if you don’t want. I won’t force you to be with me.” His voice solemn and poignant.

He didn’t understand that she had been broken all this time, and he didn’t shun her for what she became. He didn’t belittle her rage or question her motives. He was there every single day, believing in a world of possibilities she couldn’t see. He made her feel grounded and liberated, all at the same time. He had given her wings before her body had.

That day, when he promised to protect her and her sister, and tried every day afterwards to keep that promise, was the day she knew that maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was just two, strong souls that were somehow stronger together. Two bodies meant to fight next to each other.

Nesta’s lips turned upward, her cheeks felt hot. She would have been embarrassed if it was anyone but him. She smiled, mouth wide. Her voice was soft and strong, as concrete as the stars outside her window.

“I only want to be with you.”

Hazel eyes met blue ones, asking a question he already knew the answer to. When Cassian found the confirmation, he was looking for, he brought her in his arms, cradling her to his body. She leaned into the crook of his neck. He smelled like pine and the crackle of embers. When they parted, the temptation to be near each other pulled them in and didn’t let go.

Their lips grazed. Softly at first, gentle caresses and the whispers of breath. But even the slightest distance became unbearable.

The pressure built, mouths giving and taking. A ravenous battle of teeth and tongue. Her hands unwound from his neck, feeling the way he tensed as she felt the strong planes of his body. He lifted her up in a flourish and Nesta steadied herself on the firm lines beneath, her legs landing on either side of him.

“I can feel your heartbeat.”

Her hand pressed against his chest. She could feel the steady pattern. More beautiful than anything she’d ever felt. He was alive. The world still moved, and they still had a chance.

His hands scorched paths along her skin, burning her already feverish body. His heartbeat dancing to the rhythm of hers. She felt his hard muscles under her fingertips, felt the cotton of his shirt. She wanted to feel his skin on hers, felt the ache inside her twitch at the anticipation. She lifted the fabric where it rested, never parting her lips from his for more than a moment.

When she had gotten passed his torso, the shirt caught on the base of his wings. Her annoyance grew at the effort, and Cassian leaned back enough to laugh. She huffed at the sound, even if it _did_ cause a warmth to bloom in her chest.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear,

“I got it, sweetheart.” His voice rough and low. Heat warmed her body at the sound.  

His shirt landed on the floor. Cassian’s eyes sparkled with mischief and Nesta’s stomach twisted in knots. He leaned in towards her, his nose grazing the skin on her neck. She could feel his hands running along the buttons of her nightgown. His lips pressed soft kisses there and her breathing hitched at the gentleness of it.

“Is this okay?” he said, as he tipped the top button loose.

Her answer was the incline of her neck, baring her pulse to his sweet torment. Cassian took his time, took every inch of the permission she gave him and played it like a song. His lips traced a path down her body, and his hands followed. Taking her breath and nightgown with him.

When she was mostly bare, his lips found the edge of her breasts. His hands grasping them in a gentle caress, while his tongue swirled patterns along the flush of her skin. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth.

His lips enclosed around the peak, and Nesta swore she couldn’t stop the heat that pooled between her legs. She tried to stop the ache, tried to calm its roaring head, but the more she writhed, the more she wanted.

His mouth sent prayers down her skin and his hands made paths along her body. She tried to hold on tightly to him or she swore she might have flown away. The little mewls she made only spurred Cassian on, further down the length of her. She could practically feel the pleasure radiating from Cassian at her incessant moans. Nesta wanted to hit him for the smugness, but she didn’t dare make him stop.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered.

His words only left her breathless, an act she thought was impossible because she was already out of breath. His hands cradled her body close to him.

“You’re strong.” He voiced as his fingers brushed against the part of her that no man had dared to touch.

Cassian was the only one who could touch her like this. The only one who had witnessed her fire and did not flinch.

“You’re everything to me.”

His deft and skilled fingers caressed her flames until they were roaring, heating areas in a breathtaking ritual until the fire was untamable. Fingertips bringing out the beast she trapped under thick layers of ice. It wouldn’t stop and she didn’t want it to stop.

His fire danced with hers, roaring to life as it played and pounced. His fingers took his time, and when Nesta could have sworn she could not be any more aroused, his mouth joined his hands. Cassian held her firmly to the bed as her body convulsed from his kisses.

Nesta could have died like this, she’d be satisfied if this was the last thing she felt. She didn’t feel on Earth at all.

His lips found hers once more, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. His eyes were big and bright. He held her face in his hands, his brows furrowing.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I swear from the minute I heard your voice, I loved you. I need you to know that.”

She only heard the truth, only saw the conviction reflected in his irises. She believed every word, like the sky was blue.

“Whatever we do or not do in the next few minutes doesn’t change this, doesn’t change how I feel about you.

And not because of a bond. But because my soul met your soul and it decided that it would fight alongside you, no matter the odds. “

Her smile was her answer, the smile that she could only give him. He was the only one who could make her this undeniably happy, the only one who could silence her thoughts. She’d give him everything, he gave _her_ everything.

“It’ll feel uncomfortable at first, but I promise I’ll go slow.” He kissed her again. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Just say the word.”

Nesta nodded her head and sounded her agreement. She wanted to tell him she trusted him completely, but one look at him and her body felt encased in flames. When he entered her, the fullness of him left her breathless. And although it was uncomfortable, it wasn't unbearable.

Her body moved with his, and when she thought she could have died from the sheer intensity of it, Cassian’s lips touched her own. A gentle reminder that if they were doing anything, they’d do it together.  

When she couldn’t bear it any longer, the heat of him, the stimulation, the looks he gave her and sounds he made, their hands grasped each other, holding on for dear life as they slowly fell and fell and fell.  

* * *

Cassian’s steady heartbeat calmed her own. Her eyelids shut. Although exhausted, Nesta was not tired. Quite the contrary. She expected his fire to alight hers into utter oblivion. Expected it to roar so high and mighty, no one could extinguish it. But Nesta found, it wasn’t chaos that Cassian brought her, it was peace.

“How does it feel to sleep with a queen?”

Cassian’s bland look made her laugh. His eyes widened at the sound and the awestruck look made Nesta fuzzy inside. Her laugh sounded like rain.

There was a softness to the lines of his face that Nesta yearned to trace with her fingertips, even the look he gave her was warm. His palms caressed the sides of her face, and he rested his forehead on hers.

“You were always a queen to me.”

She smiled at him. Lips meeting lips in a soft and breathtaking kiss. A kiss less wild than the previous had been, but every bit as sweet. When they had parted, Cassian’s grin widened.

“I knew it ever since you kneed me in the balls.”

The sound that came out of Nesta’s mouth could have made demons sing. She shook her head at him.

They were close. She could barely recognize the line that separated one from another. She didn’t want to move away; she didn’t ever want to be parted from him.

She leaned in, kissing his full lips. She couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop leaning towards him to feel the love that warmed her to the very core. He was hers, and she was his, and they couldn’t stop taking from each other, giving to each other, being with each other.

Nesta’s heart played a symphony of affection and promise. If this was what the cauldron gave her, she would happily thank it every day.  

Because _this,_ this right here was magic, their hands clasped together was a wonder, and the love that fueled their fire was a miracle. A dream she never wanted to awake from. A moment, she never wanted to escape from.

If being fae gave her a thousand years of this, she would happily be fae for the rest of eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don’t think this is the best fanfic I’ve ever written but it’s been sitting on my computer for about 3 months now... So it is what it is. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and hopefully the next one is better lol It’ll probably be less happy.


End file.
